Thank you, Climacus. I am spending far too much time being "evaluated" (and found physically wanting) and hearing of all the destruction that must be visited upon my home and its appointments in order that I can be capable of living here still. It's worth it, but it's still hard.
<whinge> Wednesday's schedule: Physical therapy, followed by another evaluation, followed by a radioactive infusion that might, please Lord, help with the pain, with work interfering where possible - followed by dinner with a dear neighbor. Thank God for the kind people who bring and share food; it makes it so much easier to deal with this! </whinge>
Note to self: Pick out a nice bottle of wine. There's no point in leaving it behind!
Coming up to my Drinking Day too - the last day of my 4 week drug cycle/ the last day of my recovery week ... I have a nice local Merlot!
Brilliant!
I was rather hoping that I'd glow in the dark after today's radiation treatment, but no such luck. (Imagine the selfies!) I was told that I could have one glass of wine tonight; it was a rather generous pour.
Just stressing away here over my sister. From what my mother says (which is sometimes overstated, but...) there's a trial in Texas which is basically her last hope, and she's dithering about whether to bother going. She's on really strong drugs now for breakthrough pain. We're supposed to go out there (California) for Thanksgiving, but may arrive to discover that most of the family has decamped to Texas with no idea of how long the stay will be... I'm going to try to sit really loosely to this whole so-called vacation, as I don't know even what state we'll be in (literal or metaphorical).
O dear - what a (potential) brouhaha! Hope you work something out....
Meanwhile, yet another member of the tiny congregation at Our Place is on the Big C list.
B. has told me that his bowel cancer (dealt with by surgery 5 years ago, so he's had some extra time, so to speak) has returned, and that he now has probably 4-6 months left to live.
We spent some time together on Thursday, discussing his funeral plans, and in sharing in Holy Communion (with his lady wife) at home.
Bless the man - he spent some time in hospital recently, prior to the present diagnosis, witnessing quietly to his faith in Christ.
This included telling his consultant that he wants no further surgery or chemotherapy, just palliative care. He returned to faith, and was baptised and confirmed only in 2014, and is now 75. What an example of courage and Christian fortitude. I'm cracking up as I write this.....
In my opinion...
May I offer I don't see surrender.
It is sometimes a change of focus of what is most important.
But I do not see surrender.
And I reckon it comes down to what is most important for the person, and I reckon it changes over time for some.
To focus on active treatment is right.
To focus on symptom management is right.
To focus on both is right.
And any answer to that truly difficult question, from the individual concerned, is ok and right. (And wrestling with the question can be bloody hard - do not let me diminish the importance and difficulty of the question).
YMMV.
Just to add that I pray for everyone here each time I see the thread.
To Patdys: Not so long ago I walked alongside someone who went through more than one round of those changes of focus. Thank you for putting into words what was going on.
Another one? Seriously? Ross (not our Rossweisse!) has not only suffered from cancer for a number of years, but some other health issues, too. He was ready to go, and had told our pastor that he was ready to join the heavenly choir. We were just not ready to let him go, though.
So from October 12- October 20, that's three from here.
Rossweisse, I hope along with you for that surprise!
You are surely not at that stage! Our male Ross was 90, so was ready for something a lot better. He sang bass in our church choir, and declared that when he got to Heaven he was changing to tenor!
Today I spent 2 1/2 hours being Assessed by a nurse to determine whether I qualify to collect from my long-term care insurance. The good news is that, in her opinion, I do. The bad news is the same.
Ross, there are no words.
I am sending hugs to you.
I should probably go outside and wave my lightsaber around in a threatening manner to display my anger for all you are going through. The neighbors would probably just call the cops on the wacko person in her PJs and take my lightsaber away from me.
Today I got some good news: The oncologist is going to try another set of pills before sentencing me to chemo infusions. There are some nasty potential side effects (of course), but nothing like the guaranteed crap from chemo. Modified rapture!
Of course, the bone in my left hip joint crumbled a little bit more this evening. Fortunately, when I got home (choir rehearsal; other members are making sure I can get there!), I could have a (mildly illegal in this state) gummy to help with the pain. Good and good for you!
I've sometimes wondered what drives people to become oncologists, but I suppose it may be because of (a) the sheer challenge of the job, and (b) the satisfaction of seeing patients cured of, or at least brought to terms with, the Big C.
O, and we at Our Place today are thinking of/praying for a priest we know - Father L - who has one of those horrid glioblastoma brain tumours, and who had his latest MRI scan yesterday. We await good (or at least positive) news.
I've sometimes wondered what drives people to become oncologists,
I think you need to look no further than the name of the thread. Quite a lot of people choose to become an oncologist or cancer researcher because their own family is affected and they want to beat the living daylights out of cancer.
My first oncologist told me she (by random-ish chance) had to do a section of her early medical studies in a radiotherapy facility. She said she saw "how cancer changed people's whole lives and even sometimes the lives of those around them" and wanted to be a part of that. Rather just fix something (even something complicated like brain surgery) and the person go back home to more of the same old same old.
I'm just grateful that some highly intelligent and motivated people have chosen the field of oncology. That includes oncology nurses, who are some of the most caring and compassionate people I know.
We were told in church this morning that our bishop's wife, J., has been diagnosed with cancer. I don't know what sort, or anything about the prognosis, but I reckon she's about my age (mid-50s), i.e. too young.
Yes, as Rossweisse says, the nurses are Jolly Good Eggs. I sometimes think that the neuro-oncology nurses I'm dealing with actually know a good deal more than the doctors.....
Yup. Complementary skill sets I reckon. In some areas, yes, in others no. It is why the whole team is important. And do not forget the the knowledge, values and beliefs that the patients and families bring too!
On the Macmillan Cancer forum I am following (via e-mail notifications) a long-running thread called 'walking back to happiness' where a lovely, warm-hearted, with a smile in her writing every time, breast cancer sufferer set about doing what the title says. It is so nice to read the encouragement all the participants are giving each other.
Spent the last 3 weeks with crazy, frightening nightmares and the last week not sleeping at all (and if I did drop off it'd be for an hour only to be woken by The Dreams).
Went to my GP today (my health-fund's website showed a free appointment in half an hour - talk about Grace!).
I got prescribed a "sleeping pill" which I then fruck myself about by looking up on the net. Which was stupid coz she has been my Dr for 15 years so knows me inside-out. And anyway she has 97 other ones if this one is not good for me.
I did it all to myself - telling myself stories and spinning yarns with no information only statistics which may or may not apply to ME
First time I have really "lost it" in 6 months plus.
{{Galilit}} - may you get the refreshing sleep you need!
Met a chap in the MRI suite today. He's a few years older than me, and had a meningioma removed (mostly - they couldn't quite get to the last bit) in 2011. It was Grade 2 - possibly cancerous - and he now shows symptoms of it being active again, despite radiotherapy in 2011.....
Yes, you can worry yourself into the ground, using up precious personal resources ... instead of living fully ... while awaiting any concrete information you can actually act upon. Even though you are indeed under a quite probable "threat".
When I am the PM there will be classes in this from Grade 3: teaching people to respond to what is happening now. Which is usually nothing requiring enormous amounts of attention); and not live in worry and fear of what might happen ... till it actually does happen
2 little thingys to be cut out of me. "Don't worry" says the former military doc, "they're small". And I suppose he's right, no worrying will change what they are. I like him because he says nice things like "at least no-one is trying to shoot at you". The thingys are small.
On a happier side, my plumbing hasn't had any further scares. Apparently the thing that was big down there is now smallish. And seems sort of deadish and not scary. Is it because of these body scans that they even know about the 2 little thingys today? Which I suppose is good because they get cut out before they are big thingys. I asked the dog about it all, and then we went for a walk. The cat just slept.
As for everyone else who is further up or down this trail, lots of companions. I can't think of anything much else to write. I'm the guy who the group says "who, he doesn't say much", and I am off picking up a stick somewhere just off the trail. I know who you all are, and that's the important part. It's awfully kind that I get to read all these stories. Thinking of you.
I barely slept last night, which is annoying because I tire so much more easily now. But a dear friend just called and announced that she's taking me out to dinner - "I'm going to bust you out of that joint" - which is cheering news, for her company even more than for the outing.
Comments
Could we have not had two in less than a week, God?
I broke something in my left hip joint yesterday morning, and am now confined to a wheelchair. I hate it. God, can I at least WALK, please?
{{ Ross }}. I am so sorry.
<whinge> Wednesday's schedule: Physical therapy, followed by another evaluation, followed by a radioactive infusion that might, please Lord, help with the pain, with work interfering where possible - followed by dinner with a dear neighbor. Thank God for the kind people who bring and share food; it makes it so much easier to deal with this! </whinge>
Note to self: Pick out a nice bottle of wine. There's no point in leaving it behind!
Now there's a woman with priorities!
Coming up to my Drinking Day too - the last day of my 4 week drug cycle/ the last day of my recovery week ... I have a nice local Merlot!
Brilliant!
I was rather hoping that I'd glow in the dark after today's radiation treatment, but no such luck. (Imagine the selfies!) I was told that I could have one glass of wine tonight; it was a rather generous pour.
Thinking of swimming the Tiber ... again ... still ...
Of course if I DO...then Pope F will die and they will elect Someone I Don't Like
Galilit, open that Merlot! You know it makes sense....
Meanwhile, yet another member of the tiny congregation at Our Place is on the Big C list.
B. has told me that his bowel cancer (dealt with by surgery 5 years ago, so he's had some extra time, so to speak) has returned, and that he now has probably 4-6 months left to live.
We spent some time together on Thursday, discussing his funeral plans, and in sharing in Holy Communion (with his lady wife) at home.
Bless the man - he spent some time in hospital recently, prior to the present diagnosis, witnessing quietly to his faith in Christ.
This included telling his consultant that he wants no further surgery or chemotherapy, just palliative care. He returned to faith, and was baptised and confirmed only in 2014, and is now 75. What an example of courage and Christian fortitude. I'm cracking up as I write this.....
Knowing when to fight on and when to surrender seems to me a truly difficult question.
May I offer I don't see surrender.
It is sometimes a change of focus of what is most important.
But I do not see surrender.
And I reckon it comes down to what is most important for the person, and I reckon it changes over time for some.
To focus on active treatment is right.
To focus on symptom management is right.
To focus on both is right.
And any answer to that truly difficult question, from the individual concerned, is ok and right. (And wrestling with the question can be bloody hard - do not let me diminish the importance and difficulty of the question).
YMMV.
And I add my votive as well.
To Patdys: Not so long ago I walked alongside someone who went through more than one round of those changes of focus. Thank you for putting into words what was going on.
So from October 12- October 20, that's three from here.
I'm not nearly ready to give up, but I hope I will have the grace to do so when it's truly time.
You are surely not at that stage! Our male Ross was 90, so was ready for something a lot better. He sang bass in our church choir, and declared that when he got to Heaven he was changing to tenor!
No more. Please.
Today I spent 2 1/2 hours being Assessed by a nurse to determine whether I qualify to collect from my long-term care insurance. The good news is that, in her opinion, I do. The bad news is the same.
I am sending hugs to you.
I should probably go outside and wave my lightsaber around in a threatening manner to display my anger for all you are going through. The neighbors would probably just call the cops on the wacko person in her PJs and take my lightsaber away from me.
And bugger me, so much time in all these assessments...
It sounds exhausting.
Jesus wept.
Words fail. Sorry jj for your loss. Sorry Ross for all you're going through. Thank you for sharing it with us; I hope it helps.
In the meantime - thoughts and prayers ascending...
Today I got some good news: The oncologist is going to try another set of pills before sentencing me to chemo infusions. There are some nasty potential side effects (of course), but nothing like the guaranteed crap from chemo. Modified rapture!
Of course, the bone in my left hip joint crumbled a little bit more this evening. Fortunately, when I got home (choir rehearsal; other members are making sure I can get there!), I could have a (mildly illegal in this state) gummy to help with the pain. Good and good for you!
O, and we at Our Place today are thinking of/praying for a priest we know - Father L - who has one of those horrid glioblastoma brain tumours, and who had his latest MRI scan yesterday. We await good (or at least positive) news.
I think you need to look no further than the name of the thread. Quite a lot of people choose to become an oncologist or cancer researcher because their own family is affected and they want to beat the living daylights out of cancer.
Sod it.
Yes, as Rossweisse says, the nurses are Jolly Good Eggs. I sometimes think that the neuro-oncology nurses I'm dealing with actually know a good deal more than the doctors.....
{{J}}
Went to my GP today (my health-fund's website showed a free appointment in half an hour - talk about Grace!).
I got prescribed a "sleeping pill" which I then fruck myself about by looking up on the net. Which was stupid coz she has been my Dr for 15 years so knows me inside-out. And anyway she has 97 other ones if this one is not good for me.
I did it all to myself - telling myself stories and spinning yarns with no information only statistics which may or may not apply to ME
First time I have really "lost it" in 6 months plus.
Met a chap in the MRI suite today. He's a few years older than me, and had a meningioma removed (mostly - they couldn't quite get to the last bit) in 2011. It was Grade 2 - possibly cancerous - and he now shows symptoms of it being active again, despite radiotherapy in 2011.....
<votive> for a very worried P.
When I am the PM there will be classes in this from Grade 3: teaching people to respond to what is happening now. Which is usually nothing requiring enormous amounts of attention); and not live in worry and fear of what might happen ... till it actually does happen
On a happier side, my plumbing hasn't had any further scares. Apparently the thing that was big down there is now smallish. And seems sort of deadish and not scary. Is it because of these body scans that they even know about the 2 little thingys today? Which I suppose is good because they get cut out before they are big thingys. I asked the dog about it all, and then we went for a walk. The cat just slept.
As for everyone else who is further up or down this trail, lots of companions. I can't think of anything much else to write. I'm the guy who the group says "who, he doesn't say much", and I am off picking up a stick somewhere just off the trail. I know who you all are, and that's the important part. It's awfully kind that I get to read all these stories. Thinking of you.
I barely slept last night, which is annoying because I tire so much more easily now. But a dear friend just called and announced that she's taking me out to dinner - "I'm going to bust you out of that joint" - which is cheering news, for her company even more than for the outing.